


In All Things, Let Us Share Our Spite

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: And yet, Barisi Summer Fanworks Exchange 2020, Country Clubs, M/M, Tennis, old white people hanging out at country clubs is no basis for a system of government, spite is the ultimate motivator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25546063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: Rafael's spent years at the country club playing tennis because he has to. He's never liked it. But then Sonny joins in and suddenly, it's not so bad.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81
Collections: Barisi Summer Exchange 2020





	In All Things, Let Us Share Our Spite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adabarbacarisi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adabarbacarisi/gifts).



In the long list of things that annoy Rafael Barba, two of the lesser-known items on the list are as follows: 

1\. Country clubs  
2\. Tennis

He despises them both for the same reason he despises many things: As a first-generation Cuban-American who grew up dirt poor, his peers have always assumed he does not belong either in a country club or on a tennis court for (at best) classist reasons or (at worst) racist ones. 

If Rafael were left to decide the fate of country clubs, he'd burn them all to the ground and laugh. If he were to decide the fate of tennis, he may allow it to survive if he could actively remove every single asshole who thinks tennis whites is a descriptor of players, not clothing. 

Unfortunately, Rafael has not found any way to get that kind of power and is, instead, a Manhattan ADA with a first-generation American's determination for upward mobility and a spite streak as wide as he is tall. He hates country clubs, and he hates tennis. But he has a membership to the best club in the city and a backhand that obliterates most opponents. The rank and file of ADAs in Manhattan and the rest of New York span a wide background of religions, races, and creeds, but the actual power of change is still tightly gripped by ever-aging white people who think the only way to beat the heat of the city in summer is to escape to the clubs and play tennis on canopied courts where underpaid teenagers bring them fresh cucumber water between volleys. 

For years, Rafael plays tennis and talks politics and silently seethes at having to put on such a display of absolute bullshit. He picks his battles but never throws a game, and he curses each year as he makes out the check for the cost of another year's membership. 

Two months into dating Sonny, Rafael sighs when Sonny asks about his weekend plans and admits he belongs to a country club. 

"Let me guess," Sonny says, pointing his fork at Rafael with a knowing look. "It's good for your career."

"Disgustingly so," Rafael agrees. "If it wasn't the first round of this year's tennis tournament this weekend, I'd happily pretend like I didn't have a membership, but--"

"Politicking," Sonny interrupts with a slow nod. "I get it. It's why my dad plays golf."

"What?" Rafael asks, thrown off by Sonny's reply. 

"Dad _hates_ golf. It bores him to tears. But you have to play golf so you can gladhand with the guys who hand out the big contracts, so Dad plays golf."

"Do you play golf?"

Sonny snorts. "Hell, no. I tried a few times, but it was a disaster. I nearly brained the head of Public Works for Staten Island one of the times I tried to go along with my dad." Sonny spears a tomato from his salad, then looks at Rafael again. He's got that sharp smile Rafael's already a little in love with, the one that says he knows something that's going to make everything easier. "I'm pretty good at tennis, though. Ma put us all through classes with the CYA when we were kids. Gina used it as an excuse to meet boys. Teresa refused to take a second lesson when she came home sweaty. Bella demolished all the other nine-year-olds in competition, then got bored. But I stuck it out because it was one of the few places being all arms and legs actually made me good at sports when I was a kid."

It takes Rafael a moment to answer. He's caught in the easy way Sonny always talks about his family, like there are no secrets to ever hide or any fears to ever grow out of experience. They're so different in that way, and Rafael loves it. That Sonny can be casually open without Rafael feeling like he's doing something wrong by not reciprocating in time. "There's a guest bracket," he says rather than admit those feelings to Sonny (He will a few months later, and Sonny will smile and kiss him and tell him he loves him for the third time). "You could meet some people who could help you out when you decide to move to the DA's office."

Sonny cuts Rafael an amused look. "'When'?" 

"I think it's a matter of time," RAfael answers honestly. "But I'm not asking for a deadline."

Sonny chuckles and eats the tomato that's still on his fork. He mixes the greens of his salad for a moment, then meets Rafael's gaze again. "Put my name on the guest bracket," he says. "Let's ruin some WASP's day."

Rafael gets a little thrill at the sharp competition that flashes in Sonny's eyes. For all the ways they differ, they are very compatible in a hundred other wyas, and Sonny's clear readiness to fuck with people who are a little too comfortable having power makes a thrill run through Rafael. 

*

It's the first club tournament Rafael's ever played in where he's actually had fun. Not because he's winning--though he is--but because every time he finishes a match, he checks the standings on the white board, and Sonny is methodically destroying his opponents at a level that tells Rafael that Sonny has--yet again--underplayed his level of competence when describing himself to someone else. 

He gets the chance to see Sonny's skill first hand late in the afternoon on the first day of the tournament. He's finished for the day, having ended up second in his bracket after getting his ass handed to him by a new member of the club who'd been genuinely complementary about Rafael's playing and even asked for a few tips on his backhand. 

Rafael's seen Sonny walking around the squad, puttering around his apartment, and even chasing after suspects, but seeing Sonny on the tennis court is something else entirely. His long reach and quick stride means almost nothing gets by him. He's also willing to throw his whole body into returning a volley even if it means he crashes hard on the clay court. A few of the people around Rafael murmur that Sonny is inelegant, but Rafael silently disagrees. Sonny on the tennis court is next-level perfection. All his loose gestures gain a purpose they don't have any other place that Rafael has seen. The way his muscles stretch and flex as he plays look like ballet. He is perfectly choreographed in his movements, and Rafael has a moment of smug sadness for the people around him who can't appreciate it. 

But then Sonny serves, and even the detractors go quiet. Because Sonny grins at his opponent, bounces the ball a few times, and then absolutely smashes the ball across the court so that it just barely clears the net and divebombs sharply to hit the court just on the inside of the boundary line. 

The line judge calls the point for Sonny, and the ball boy tosses him another ball so he can serve again. 

The serve is, again, devastating, but doubly so because this time Sonny's opponent is ready, and Sonny's serve seems to swerve around the man so all he can do is swipe the air with his racket. 

Rafael chuckles quietly to himself as the detractors around him suddenly change their tune. Who is this man? Whose guest is he? Where did he learn to serve like that? 

That night, the club puts on a buffet supper of cold dishes for everyone involved in the tournament. Rafael sips champagne as the cocktail hour starts and happily leans into Sonny's side when Sonny finds him and immediately pulls him in close with an arm around his shoulders. 

"Sorry I'm sweaty," Sonny murmurs as he presses a kiss to Rafael's temple. 

"You are better at tennis than you let on," Rafael replies, giving Sonny an arch look that he is certain will become a standard in his repertoire as he and Sonny move forward in their relationship (he's entirely right). 

Three men approach Rafael. Third-generation country club gentlemen who have always treated Rafael with a cool politeness that makes it clear they consider themselves wholly comfortable feeling slightly above him in all things. The only thing Rafael has ever considered a positive about them is that they're not homophobes. 

"Rafael," says Jerry, who is always the ringleader of the three, "Where did you find this man?" Jerry beams at Sonny and holds out his hand. He's showing more interest in Sonny in this moment than he's ever shown in Rafael in the last fifteen years they've both been at the club. "Your serve a brutal beauty," he says. "It's Dominick, right?"

"Call me Sonny," Sonny replies, "and to answer your question, I'm from Staten Island, but we met in Manhattan. I'm a cop."

Watching the way Jerry and his two friends try not to twitch at being effusive towards a working man is possibly the best moment of Rafael's day. He takes a long drink of champagne to hide his glee. 

Sonny--being Sonny--makes no attempt to disguise his own amusement. "Don't worry, gentlemen," he says, and Rafael can tell he's intentionally thickening his accent. "I'm just about as WASPy as any of the rest of you save the whole Catholic thing."

Jerry and his friends give a hollow laugh and quickly retreat. Rafael chuckles once they're gone and turns to see Sonny smiling down at him. "That was fun," Sonny says. "Who else can we horrify before I fucking ruin everyone during tomorrow's matches?"

Rafale laughs whole-out at that. Sonny's casual surge of confidence feeling so perfectly right as Rafael slips an arm around his waist and turns him towards an unsuspecting crowd of people who have no idea exactly how quickly the handsome, smiling man at his side is going to shock them by looking like one of their own and then speaking honestly like he does in all things. "Take first place, and I'll blow you in the changing room," Rafael murmurs as they cross the room. 

Sonny takes first place. Rafael blows him in the changing room. They skip the celebratory dinner at the club and stop at a dive bar for wings and cheap beer before going back to Rafael's and falling asleep with Rafael playing big spoon. It's the best weekend at the club Rafael's ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> I dumped a whole spoonful of politics in the midst of this, and I hope it does not diminish your fun with this fic. I really enjoyed writing it.


End file.
